But at least transcripts were provided. And if you want to spend the time if the content is worthy such as
this, then by toggling off timestamps, and asking perplexity.ai "Can you format a "wall of text" transcript, adding punctuation, paragraphs?" (add format as html for FR, or use https://text-html.com/), and copying (mouse click cursor at start of text, scroll to end, hold Shift key and left click there and right click on copy) about half the transcript (due to limits) and provide that to AI to format, I did both sections. There is a YouTube AI Transcriber extension to do this but it did not work for me.
For Lincoln, finally this punishing war has come to an end, and he's able to feel a sense that the country is going to go forward. "I've done my part as a leader," he might have thought. And he only has five days to appreciate that before he's killed. April 1865 marked the end of a war and the beginning of a mystery.
A president was killed. A killer fled. A nation grieved. And then the story was sealed for over 150 years. We were told it was all Booth—one man, one gun, one night. But what if the truth is far more terrifying? This reveal exposes the suppressed files, silenced witnesses, and concealed power plays that suggest Lincoln's death wasn't a random act, but something far more orchestrated.
His coffin was carried by a new railroad car that had just been built for his use and was called the United States. Get ready to question everything you thought you knew, because the truth about Abraham Lincoln's assassination has finally been revealed—and it's much worse than we thought.
A nation shattered. By the spring of 1865, the United States was on the cusp of a fragile new beginning after four brutal years of civil war. Richmond, the Confederate capital, had finally fallen in early April. The Union forces were triumphant, but the cost had been staggering: more than 600,000 Americans lay dead, cities lay in ruins, and families torn apart by ideology and bloodshed struggled to comprehend a future they no longer recognized.
President Abraham Lincoln, weary but resolute, understood the monumental task ahead. In his second inaugural address just days earlier, he had spoken not of vengeance but of healing: "With malice toward none, with charity for all." His vision was clear: to reunite a deeply fractured nation through mercy, understanding, and a commitment to rebuild.
The atmosphere in Washington, D.C., was cautiously optimistic. The war's end promised peace but also uncertainty. Former Confederates awaited their fate, freed slaves looked for justice, and the whole country grappled with how to restore trust in a union nearly torn apart.
On the evening of April 14th, 1865, Lincoln and his wife, Mary Todd, attended a performance of the comedy "Our American Cousin" at Ford's Theater. The choice was deliberate—a brief respite, a moment of normalcy and laughter amid chaos. Yet no one could have foreseen the tragic final act about to unfold.
John Wilkes Booth, a once celebrated actor turned radical, slipped silently through the theater's corridors, driven by a volatile mix of fervent Confederate loyalty, personal ambition, and a bitter hatred for Lincoln's policies. Booth had plotted this moment meticulously.
At exactly 10:15 p.m., Booth crept into the presidential box, drew his single-shot Deringer pistol, and fired directly into the back of Lincoln's head. The shot was muffled but deadly. Pandemonium erupted. Booth shouted, "Sic semper tyrannis!"—the Virginia state motto, meaning "Thus always to tyrants"—and leapt from the box onto the stage below.
He escaped through the back, disappearing into the dark streets of Washington. Lincoln was carried across the street to the Peterson House, where he lingered in unconscious agony through the night. At 7:22 a.m. on April 15th, the nation's first president to be assassinated breathed his last breath.
Shock turned swiftly to horror and disbelief. How could this happen to a country so fragile, so desperate for peace? The tragedy struck not just at the man but at the very heart of the nation's fragile hope.
What followed was swift and brutal. Martial law was declared, civil liberties were suspended, and the machinery of justice moved quickly but often in a blind and unfair manner. Military tribunals were convened instead of civilian courts. Dozens of suspected conspirators were arrested—some on flimsy evidence, others on suspicion alone. Trials were secretive, verdicts harsh. The government sought a tidy explanation: a lone madman consumed by Confederate zealotry, acting out of desperation.
The country demanded closure, a simple narrative that could bring some semblance of order to chaos. For over a century and a half, this story held firm. But as with all great historical events, the truth is rarely so straightforward. Beneath the surface, shadows lurked—secrets buried deep in the tumult of those dark days, waiting to be uncovered.
The Actor and the Network
Born into a prominent theatrical family, Booth had grown up in privilege and fame, but also within a swirling world of political intrigue. A fervent Southern sympathizer, his bitterness toward Lincoln was no secret. His diaries and letters reveal a man obsessed with the betrayal he saw in the Union's victory and a desire to restore what he considered the true American order.
Booth was wealthy, well-connected, and deeply entwined in a web of Confederate sympathizers and underground operatives.
In the weeks leading up to the assassination, Booth had been vocal in his plans—not only to kill Lincoln, but initially to kidnap him, intending to exchange the president for Confederate prisoners. His movements were calculated, and his identity was often concealed behind aliases and forged documents.
His belongings, seized after his death, contained coded messages and ciphered correspondence—symbols that remain partially undeciphered to this day.\